


Chasing the High

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Developing Relationship, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 03:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2717291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After battling with drug addiction in high school, Grantaire barely makes it to college, but surprises himself by getting into grad school. But there, he meets the man destined to be his sweetest drug of choice and worst drug of all, Enjolras, who's hiding a secret of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chasing the High

**Author's Note:**

> As many of you know, I have been aiming to retire from fanfic writing for awhile now. With the publication of this fic on tumblr, and now on AO3, I am now officially retired.
> 
> I'll save my thank-yous until the end, since I know most of you don't care, and will simply give my usual disclaimer for this kind of fic: anything stated or implied about drug addiction is based solely on my own experiences and is not and should not be taken as representative of all experiences with drugs and drug addiction.
> 
> And finally, for the very last time, usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

For Enjolras, it all started with Courfeyrac’s adderall.

Courfeyrac’s mother had not dealt well with her only son’s transition to puberty, and had taken him to every doctor in the city, where he was diagnosed with a host of issues, none — or at least, most — of which he didn’t have. As such, Courfeyrac spent the majority of junior high in a medication-induced haze, but when he got to high school, he wised up, and began dealing his excess medications to other kids for a decent markdown, and donating the proceeds to charity.

Enjolras had never been one for chemical enhancements of any variety, turning his nose up at everything from shitty beer at one of Bahorel’s parties to even caffeine.

But then the AP tests rolled around, and with it, the guarantee of a scholarship that would remove him from his dependency on his parents and, more importantly, their money. With them also came stress, and sleepless nights, and the overwhelming feeling like he was never going to remember enough.

Until Courfeyrac asked him casually one day, “Do you want some of my adderall? People swear that it helps them study.”

And Enjolras, who could count on one hand the number of times he had drunk even so much as a Coke, shrugged, and took the small, oblong white and orange pills that Courfeyrac offered.

As much as it may sound like something out of a bad afterschool special, it took only time for Enjolras to be hooked. It wasn’t just the rush of the drugs, although that was certainly appealing. It was the fact that Enjolras had never before realized just how many hours there were in the day, and how much he could get done. Not only could he study for his tests, whipping through his notes at a shocking pace, but he could also get started on his Spanish project and his speech for debate team and his class president’s end of the year address and every other little thing that he’d been putting off.

From then on, adderall became his little secret to getting everything he needed to done. His teachers praised him, and even his parents seemed impressed with everything he was able to do.

Once he got to university, he figured he wouldn’t need adderall anymore. His first round of midterms proved otherwise.

But at university, stronger things than adderall were readily available, and Enjolras found they had even more desirable results.

Once, only once, halfway through their first year, Courfeyrac asked Combeferre if they needed to be concerned about him. Combeferred shrugged, looking unsure. “Sooner or later he’ll hit a wall, right?” he reasoned. “I mean, no one can go on like he does forever. So we can deal with it then.”

Though Courfeyrac looked skeptical, he nodded. “Sure,” he said, with far more confidence than he felt. “We’ll deal with it then.”

Only, by the time Enjolras made it to law school, there didn’t seem to be any wall in sight.

* * *

 

For Grantaire, it all started with a bottle of his dad’s whiskey.

He was thirteen and lonely and  _so misunderstood_ , and his parent’s divorce was getting messy (his mother’s crying even more so), and hey, it seemed to work well enough for his dad, so why wouldn’t it work for him?

Drinking was a strictly solitary activity for Grantaire, which made it difficult when he got to high school and wanted to hang out with his new, equally misunderstood friends but also didn’t want to feel anything.

Heroin became an answer, to more problems than Grantaire even knew he had, a simple syringeful of oblivion that was cheaper than alcohol.

“It’s better than sex,” he bragged to his old friends, Joly and Bossuet, who looked horrified (he had no way of knowing if it was. He had never had sex, too chubby and awkward and unhappy to draw the eye of any girl or guy in the school).

But while heroin seemed to solve so many of his problems, it caused seemingly infinite more, and by the time Grantaire came to Joly, crying and a complete mess their junior year of high school, he was broke and on the verge of flunking out of high school.

With Joly’s help, he got clean; with both Joly and Bossuet’s help, he graduated high school, and even got into university. He was on his own there, and staying clean was a struggle, but one that he was determined to beat.

Then he got to grad school, and there, he met the man destined to be his sweetest drug of choice and worst drug of all, Enjolras.

* * *

 

“You’re going to work yourself to death, you know,” Grantaire told Enjolras, his tone mocking and sardonic, and Enjolras’s shoulders tensed as he looked up to glare at him. “I mean, I’m telling you because I’m concerned.”

His easy smile seemed to belie his concern, and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “I’m fine,” he snapped. “And you’re not concerned about me, so don’t even pull that shit.”

Grantaire stood and crossed over to Enjolras’s table at the Musain, plopping down before Enjolras could command him not to. “But I  _am_  concerned,” he said, slightly more seriously this time, though his smile still seemed mischievous. “You are the only thing in my life for which I have any concern.”

“Well,  _that_  I don’t doubt,” Enjolras said dryly, shuffling the papers in front of him. Grantaire’s feelings for Enjolras were well-known, even to him, and if he had half a mind to pursue such things, he might have been tempted. As it was, Enjolras cared little for such things in light of all he had to do with Les Amis and law school and his internship at the mayor’s office (and quite a bit in light of the baggie of white powder in his pocket, which seemed to sometimes dim Enjolras’s concern for the human).

Grantaire’s frown faded slightly as he looked at the way Enjolras’s hands shook, at his bloodshot eyes with their too rapid movement, and his own hands slowly clenched. “You really should slow down,” he said, completely serious. “You can’t do everything, Enjolras, and you really will kill yourself trying.”

Enjolras slammed his hand down on the table, his temper getting the better of him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he snarled. “Just because  _you’re_  worthless doesn’t mean you have to try to make me go the same way as you.”

Grantaire flinched, but stared back at him, undeterred. “What are you on?” he asked, abruptly. “Coke? Speed? Christ, Enj, don’t tell me you’re stupid enough to do meth.” Enjolras’s face colored slightly, and he suddenly couldn’t seem to meet Grantaire’s eyes. Grantaire sighed. “You really don’t need to do this,” he said softly. “You don’t need drugs, Enjolras, and before you accuse me of not knowing what I’m talking about, I barely remember anything from my first three years of high school because I was — because I  _am_  — a drug addict.”

His tone was soft, gentle even, but Enjolras nonetheless flinched as if he had been slapped. “It’s none of your business,” he said harshly. “Now leave me the fuck alone.”

Though part of Grantaire wanted to argue, he still nodded slowly and stood. “It’s all of our business,” he said quietly. “You’re our leader and our friend, and we all love you. Think of what this could do to everyone.”

With that, he turned to leave, and Enjolras stared after him for a long moment before digging in his pocket for the bag he needed now more than ever.

* * *

 

Combeferre looked up from his book with a start, blinking in confusion in the direction of his apartment door, which he was pretty sure someone had just knocked on. The knock sounded again and Combeferre’s forehead creased further, and he stood to answer the door, standing back to let Grantaire into the apartment. “Can I help you?” Combeferre asked, more confused than curt.

Grantaire gave him a look. “It’s about Enjolras,” he said, and Combeferre sighed.

“If you want advice on how to woo him, or whatever, you’ve really come to the wrong place. I’d advise that you go talk to Courfeyrac, but honestly, I’m not even sure that he’d be able to help.” Combeferre caught sight of the look on Grantaire’s face and frowned. “Though I’m guessing you’re not here to talk about that.”

“You’d guess right,” Grantaire said grimly. He sighed and ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I know about Enjolras’s problem.”

Combeferre frowned at him. “What problem?”

Grantaire waved a vague hand. “You know, his…his  _drug_  problem.”

Combeferre stared flatly at him. “Enjolras doesn’t have a drug problem.”

The look Grantaire gave him was dubious at best. “What, is it supposed to be a secret?” he asked sardonically. “Something only his closest friends know? Heaven forbid the world find out that the fearless leader is fallible and human and…” He trailed off, watching Combeferre closely. “You…you know what I’m referring to, don’t you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Combeferre said coldly. “Enjolras is fine, and if he wasn’t, I would know about it long before you.”

Grantaire stared at him for a long moment, then snorted. “Yeah, right,” he muttered. “And denial is just a river in Africa.” He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Just…know that I’m worried about Enjolras, ok? And maybe keep an eye on him when I can’t?”

Combeferre looked contemptuously at him. “ _If_  I thought there was a problem,” he said, in a way that implied he clearly didn’t see a problem, “I would hardly look after him on your account. If Enjolras has a problem, it’s you, and perhaps you should consider that before spinning outrageous accusations.”

Swallowing hard, Grantaire nodded slowly. “Of course,” he said hollowly. “I’ll just…I’ll go, then.”

He let himself out without saying anything more, and Combeferre went back to his book, which he stared at without really seeing for a long time after.

* * *

 

Grantaire stood in the doorway of the backroom of the Musain, watching impassionately as Enjolras straightened, rubbing vigorously at his nose. “Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras said, sniffing loudly. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Well, here I am,” Grantaire said unhappily. “I went to see Combeferre.”

Enjolras gave him a wide grin, leaning back in his seat. “And how is Combeferre?” he asked cheerfully. “I imagine he’s the way he normally is, reading, probably.”

Grantaire gave him a strange look. “Well, he basically told me the same thing that you did: to leave him the fuck alone.”

Enjolras laughed. “I didn’t say that,” he said, and when Grantaire just frowned at him, amended, “Well, I didn’t mean it if I said it. C’mon, sit down next to me. We can talk. It’s been awhile since we just chatted.”

Almost against his better judgment, Grantaire sat down next to Enjolras, though he still seemed stiff and uncomfortable. Enjolras leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand and giving Grantaire an easy grin, the kind that would normally make Grantaire swoon. “So what’s new in your life? Any new love interests?”

Grantaire’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid not,” he muttered, looking down at the table. “Pretty much the same as always.”

“Oh, of course,” Enjolras said, nodding sagely. “You like me.” He smiled at Grantaire. “Would you like to kiss me?”

Grantaire looked sharply at him. “Would I—”

Enjolras cut him off by kissing him, closing the space between them easily, reaching up to cup Grantaire’s cheek, the move simple and easy, as if he had been doing this for years, as if he was meant to do this. For one moment, Grantaire kissed him back, then, without warning, shoved him away. “What?” Enjolras asked, confused, hand still outstretched, though Grantaire was no longer there. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do,” Grantaire said quietly, his voice small and a little hurt. “I do want this — I want  _you_. But not now, not when you’re high.”

For a moment, it seemed like Enjolras was going to deny it, but instead he just grinned and shrugged. “Well, it happens sometimes.”

Grantaire shrugged as well, looking unhappy. “Yeah, but it seems to be happening more frequently of late.”

Enjolras snorted. “I’m hardly high that often,” he said, and when Grantaire just looked at him, added defensively, “It’s not like that! Every now and then, when I need it. It’s not like I  _have_  to be high or something. It just…it feels nice, ok?” Grantaire remained silent as Enjolras got more angry, his voice rising in volume. “I can stop anytime I want, ok? It’s not like I’m—” He broke off, laughing harshly. “I mean, I’m hardly an addict, Grantaire. I’m not—”

He broke off, expression contorting as he clearly tried to stop himself from saying something. Grantaire’s mouth went dry. “Say it,” he said hoarsely, and when Enjolras just shook his head, repeated louder, “Say it!”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed and he spat, “I’m not like you.”

Tears pricked in Grantaire’s eyes and he nodded slowly, Enjolras’s words like confirmation of all his darkest thoughts. “Right,” he said, his voice soft, defeated. “I’m gonna go.”

Enjolras sighed. “Don’t,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Grantaire’s arm. “Don’t go.”

“I have to,” Grantaire told him quietly. “I have to…Look, I need to figure some things out for myself, ok?”

Though Enjolras nodded, he didn’t look convinced, and after a long moment, asked in what he clearly thought was a joking tone, “You’re not going to try to ‘change me’ or ask me to stop, are you?”

Grantaire just smiled sadly and leaned forward to kiss Enjolras lightly on the lips before telling him quietly, “You wouldn’t listen to me if I did.”

* * *

 

Joly was silent for a long moment, sipping from his cup of tea as he looked at a thoroughly miserable Grantaire. “You know that I can’t say anything to anyone,” he said finally. “Doctor-patient confidentiality. Everything you told me tonight stays between us. I can’t even tell Bossuet.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t give me advice, right?”

“Of course not,” Joly said instantly, smiling reassuringly at him. “But I think you already know what you need to do. Or rather, what you need to  _not_  do.” Grantaire shrugged again and Joly’s smile faded into something far more serious. “You can’t be a part of what Enjolras is doing, for the sake of your own recovery. Being with him — being  _near_  him — could jeopardize everything you’ve worked for.”

Grantaire cracked a small smile. “When you say it like that, it sounds so easy. And I was afraid you would say something like that.” He paused, his expression falling. “But I don’t know if I can just stay away from him. I love him, Jolllly.”

Joly snorted. “You  _think_  you love him.”

Grantaire looked at him sharply. “What I  _know_  is that when I’m with Enjolras, I feel better than I ever did when I was using. Maybe that’s not love, but it’s addicting in and of itself.”

For a long moment, Joly was quiet, then he sighed. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not going to give you my permission, Grantaire. You’re playing a dangerous game here.”

Shrugging again, Grantaire managed a short laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know any other way to play.”

* * *

 

A few nights later found Grantaire standing in the doorway of the Musain bathroom, watching as Enjolras bent over the sink, snorting a line. He cleared his throat and Enjolras looked up, coloring as he saw Grantaire. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry, I didn’t think anyone else was here for the meeting yet.”

“I came early,” Grantaire told him. “I wanted to talk to you.”

Enjolras made a face. “Talking,” he scoffed, laughing, though his laugh sounded forced. “Wouldn’t you rather relax a little? You could join me, you know.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “In what way?” he asked.

Enjolras smiled at him, almost sweetly. “In all the ways that matter,” he said, and crossed to him to kiss him. This time, Grantaire didn’t try to pull away, letting Enjolras kiss him, and when Enjolras finally pulled away, it was to nod towards the sink and to tell Grantaire, a little breathlessly, “There’s more there, if you want some.”

Grantaire wanted to refuse, wanted to talk to Enjolras about things that mattered, about them and him and everything, but there was a thrumming in his veins such as Grantaire had not felt in years, not since he was on his own drug of choice.

And now he had found a drug infinitely more potent than any chemical compound, and besides, Grantaire had never learned when to stop chasing the high.

So he took the rolled-up bill from Enjolras, bent over the remaining lines of white powder, closed his eyes, and inhaled.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of those that I have to thank I already have, so I want to save this as a thank you for the wonderful community on AO3, which has been overwhelmingly supportive to me, from my very first fic almost two years ago through to the end.
> 
> It's a community that has, knowingly or otherwise, gotten me through some very difficult times in my life, and for that, I would be remiss if I did not thank every single wonderful person who has commented on, kudos'd, bookmarked, or even just read the fics that I have written. My time in this fandom as a writer has been without doubt some of the best and most well-spent time in my life, but I could not have done it, could not have reached 200+ fics and 1,000,000+ words, without you who is reading this now.
> 
> So thank you, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> If ever you wish to find me, feel free to drop me a line on either my [fanfic blog](http://kjack89.tumblr.com) or my [personal blog](http://butihavejoy.tumblr.com/), or drop me a comment on any of my fics.
> 
> And once more, thank you.


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